


Delicate

by intrepidheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Frottage, Jealous Sam, Kissing, M/M, Mostly Sam being bitter, Possessive Dean, Requited Unrequited Love, Sam cooks for Dean, Three-way kissing, Weecest, it's cute, just a bit of Angst, sam is fifteen, what are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrepidheart/pseuds/intrepidheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After something happens when Dean brings a girl home on Sam and Dean's usual movie night, a few things become very clear to Sam. First, that he is in love with his brother. Second, that everything that has ever existed between both him and Dean has fundamentally changed. Third, that he doesn't believe it's coincidence anymore when Dean brings home a girl on the same night the next week. And the next. And the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate

Sam can’t help that he gets jealous whenever he sees Dean with a girl.

Yeah, yeah, Dean’s his older brother, why should he be jealous about his brother being with a _girl_ , it’s stupid, etcetera etcetera. Whatever. Sam has stopped questioning why exactly his thoughts tend to take this road when he thinks of Dean and just goes with it. It’s beside the point.

He’s allowed to be upset. Friday nights are Sam-and-Dean nights. They’re the nights that Sam gets home from school and throws his backpack into the chair and Dean gets home from work and grabs a beer and they bicker about what movie they want to watch and what to put on the pizza they indulge in with the money Dad’s left behind and who gets the last piece of cheesy crust and it’s all theirs. _Theirs_. It isn’t Sam-and-Dean-and-Dean’s-plus-one nights.

So yeah, Sam’s gonna be a little jealous when he opens the crooked screen door of their latest temporary home and finds a girl sitting at the table situated just outside of their tiny kitchen. Dean’s leaning on the counter, the house phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder as he rattles the pizza order to the guy on the other line while popping the cap off two beer bottles. Sam’s eyes narrow immediately as the girl turns to watch him walk past Dean. She’s pretty. That just makes it worse. Beautiful tumbling brown curls, really big green eyes and a small beauty mark just under the left one where her long eyelashes sweep down on her cheekbone. Sam scowls. He hates her already.

“Hey kiddo,” Dean reaches over and shoves his hand into Sam’s hair, messing it up between his fingers like he usually does. “We got a guest joining us tonight. Cool?”

Sam shoves Dean’s arm away, blushing as the girl watches their interaction from her seat at the table.

“I’m fifteen, Dean, ‘m not a kid.”

“Sure. And I’m not your seriously good looking brother with an incredibly good taste in movies.”

“You don’t have an incredibly good taste in movies,” Sam mumbles under his breath as he pulls the fridge open, finding nothing appetizing. He still hasn’t spoken a word to the stranger impeding on his Dean-time and part of him wants to just go sulk in his room and not watch Dean flirt and charm his way into her pants for the rest of the night. But his inner self is chastizing him for being rude and he can’t help but stop a few feet from the table and force himself to meet the girl’s eyes. She’s biting her lip, fingernails clinking a rhythm on the beer bottle Dean just handed her.

“Hi. I’m Sam.”

The girl’s cheeks turn a pretty pink and Sam’s face flushes in response. Her eyes rake down his body and back up before she smiles sweetly.

“Hey. I’m Kelly. Your brother works for my dad.” The boss’s daughter. Really, Dean?

“Cool,” Sam ducks his head, rubbing his palms together to get rid of nervous energy as Dean finally clicks the phone off. “I’ll just - I’m gonna go do homework or something.”

“Aw, c’mon Sammy!” Sam feels the strong, muscled arm slip around his throat and the knuckles grind lightly into the top of his head, his hands flying up to yank at Dean’s playful chokehold. “It’s Friday! What kind of nerd does homework on a Friday?”

“ _Nerds_ , you dumb jerk,” Sam complains loudly, stomping down on Dean’s instep. Swearing, Dean releases him but not before pushing Sam’s head hard enough that he is forced to take a few quick steps in order to right himself and not fall over.

“What, you don’t wanna help us pick the movie?” Dean’s back to casual, grabbing his beer and taking the seat across from Kelly, legs sprawling out open and inviting. Sam keeps his eyes down on his feet and decidedly _not_ travelling up the length of worn jeans at the edge of his vision.

“You guys go ahead. Don’t want to interrupt your date.” Sam bites the end of his tongue when the last word clips off a bit harsher than he meant. Maybe he did mean it like that. He doesn’t know anymore.

“No, no! I don’t want to intrude or anything,” Kelly’s eyes are wide and pouting, looking up at Sam all apologetic like she just kicked his puppy or something. “Watch it with us, Sam. It’ll be fun.”

Sam’s stomach does a somersault in his belly and he has to drop her gaze which is making him blush again, returning to watch his socked feet scuff at the ratty carpet. Raising them back up to look at Dean, he sees Dean’s lips purse for a second before giving in and breaking back out into a smile.

“Yeah, Sammy. No big deal. Pizza and movie as usual.”

It is anything other than usual.

The pizza arrives without special occasion, Sam taking the two boxes and handing the guy the money in exchange. Dean somehow manages to be the one choosing the movie tonight and picked “Se7en”, much to Kelly’s half-hearted protests. All the more reason for Kelly to cuddle up to him and bury her face into his neck so she won’t have to see the gruesome murder scenes. Sam knows Dean’s tricks and Dean knows that Sam knows because he flashes Sam a dirty smirk and raises his eyebrows up and down as he slides the tape into the VCR. Dean brings some more beers out and sets them up on the coffee table in front of the couch for easy access before flopping down next to the right arm of the couch.

Sam eyes one of them as he takes the opposite end of the sofa, seriously debating chugging it back to get through this movie before being able to retreat to the safety of his room. Kelly pads over in her bare feet and giggles as she sits between the two of them. Sam rolls his eyes a little, propping his elbow on the cushioned arm nearest him to rest his face in his palm as the credits begin to roll.

The movie starts off fine. Both Kelly and Sam wrinkle their noses at the heinous and gory scenes, though both Sam and Dean have seen much worse on hunts, while Dean sips on his beer and holds a soft, curious smile on his face. It’s about halfway through when something shifts, both figuratively and physically. Dean’s arm, which had been casually draped across the back of the couch, fingers just inches from Sam’s shoulder, moves to run down Kelly’s side. Sam is trying, really, really, really trying not to watch his brother’s hand so he leans forward, grabs one of the open bottles of beer and starts to take generous gulps. He hears Dean’s huff, more of a ‘Don’t get too crazy’ than a ‘Put it back’. Waving Dean away, Sam decides to make a little drinking game for himself. Whenever Brad Pitt cusses, take a drink. Also, whenever he hears Dean’s lips lift from the skin of Kelly’s neck to press down for another kiss, take a really big drink.

Oxygen has seemed to shrink in the room, Sam notes as he finds his breaths becoming deeper and more rapid. It could be due to the fact that Kelly and Dean are now full on making out three inches from him and that Dean has not-so-subtly slipped his hand up her shirt. Sam’s on beer number two now and fighting to keep his leg from bouncing up and down like it tends to do when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, which is really hard right now because he’s very nervous and _very_ uncomfortable. Sam sits through the muffled moans and shifting movements for ten more minutes until he can’t take it anymore. Dean obviously needs his privacy and Sam needs to go jerk off alone in his room because he’s half hard from the activity to his left, whether he likes it or not.

Sam leans forward and sets the empty beer bottle back on the coffee table, about to stand up when he feels two fingers grasp one of his belt loops, keeping him on the couch. Turning his head, heart pounding a vicious rhythm in his chest, Sam’s eyes travel up the length of arm to find it connected to Kelly. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he watches her and Dean basically tongue-fucking each other, wondering why he is still bearing witness to it all when he could totally not be here right now. After a moment, Kelly pulls back to look at Sam, her eyes half-lidded in arousal, lips red and used and panting from Dean’s mouth as she drags her gaze up Sam’s crouched body and bewildered expression. A slow smile brightens her flushed face and her fingers tug at Sam’s jeans. Towards her red, red lips, towards her heaving breasts and towards his brother who is watching all of this with an unreadable expression. Sam swallows heavily, tries to count to ten in his head but gets lost after number three because Kelly is leaning forward off the back of the couch to tug her shirt up and over her head.

Sam bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as he runs his eyes up miles of smooth, pale skin riddled with freckles and moles to finally land on the white, lacy bra accentuating her chest.

“Dean,” Kelly says softly, turning her head towards him while keeping her eyes on Sam, her voice low enough that it doesn’t disturb the buzzing air around the three of them. “I like your brother.”

If humanly possible, Sam blushes deeper. He shifts, blinks rapidly and ruffles both hands in his hair with his elbows on his knees as he forces his eyes down to his feet in embarrassment. This isn’t really happening. It can’t be.

“Yeah, he’s not bad, I suppose.”

Sam can’t help but meet Dean’s eyes, which are also on him, searing holes into Sam’s skin.

“C’mere, Sam,” Kelly’s voice is a soft purr that worms its way into Sam’s muscles, coaxing him back into the cushions next to her. One of her hands lifts to pet his cheek, fingertips slipping forward to dance across his lips. “He has such a pretty mouth, Dean.”

Sam tenses, slowly dragging his gaze up to meet his brother’s. But Dean’s eyes are on Kelly’s fingers, a hint of possessiveness in the way he is watching her hand glide across his face. Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat that leaves Sam unsure as to whether he agrees with Kelly or not and, well, doesn’t that just kick the cage of butterflies already rioting in his stomach.

Sam is too busy scouring Dean’s face for some sort of emotion to realize that Kelly is leaning forward until it’s too late and her mouth is plush against his. Sam jerks back a little, caught off guard and really not sure if he’s okay with Dean’s date kissing him while Dean himself is draped along her other side with one hand working her bra off.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Kelly is whispering into the corner of his mouth.

Sam’s face twists like it always does when anyone other than Dean uses his nickname, but before he can say anything, Dean is murmuring in a rough tone, “He doesn’t like to be called that.”

Kelly lifts her head to look slowly between both Sam and Dean. In this exact moment, Sam feels completely and utterly naked, all his emotions on his face for her to read like an open book. He can see Kelly recalling Dean using the nickname for him a few times earlier, can see her analyzing his reaction to Dean’s statement, can see everything click into place in her head as she watches the way Dean is staring right at Sam after he said it and it terrifies him. She knows. She knows about the unspoken undercurrent that has vibrated at the lowest hum between the two brothers for the entirety of their lives. All from one hour with the both of them and she can pick it up out of thin air.

“He doesn’t, does he? Because Sammy is just Dean’s, right? Only Dean’s.”

She definitely knows.

Her words are left open for interpretation and Sam can only swallow around the lump in his throat and hope Dean doesn’t pick up on the implication there. Neither Sam nor Dean responds to her statement. Dean just sinks down and attaches his mouth to Kelly’s neck, distracting her enough to have her head roll back against the couch with a moan. Sam watches from Kelly’s other side as Dean works his way to her collarbone, a trail of small reddening spots following from where he nips at her skin.

Kelly’s hand untangles from Sam’s belt loop and is sliding up his torso, her palm pressing hard and flat as it moves like she’s straining to feel his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Dean’s eyes are trained on Kelly’s hand as he continues his own work, never slowing down in the slightest. A little noise bursts from Sam’s mouth that he didn’t expect to make when Kelly’s fingers rub over Sam’s hardened nipple, the scrape of his shirt with her pressure overloading his senses. Sam’s mouth opens and shuts silently, trying to force out an apology with a failed voice.

“God, you are just the cutest thing,” Kelly says through a grin, leaning away from Dean to whisper her next words into the curve of his left ear, her hand finally reaching his head to comb through his hair. “I could just eat you right up.”

Sam’s eyes flutter closed, his dick twitching at the thought. He can feel her hand skittering down his chest to fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him down again to meet her mouth. Another moan breaks from her lips and Sam opens his eyes, straining to look down from the awkward angle he is at to watch as Dean flicks his tongue over one of her nipples. He knows his eyes should be closed, knows he should be focusing on kissing the girl who has her tongue slipping against his but Dean is the magnet in the room, drawing every trembling nerve in Sam’s body to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Kelly’s eyes flutter open and notice that Sam’s are on his brother instead of closed in the throes of passion. Sitting up a bit straighter so she’s off the back of the couch, breaking her kiss with Sam, Kelly pulls Dean’s face up with a gentle hand on his chin. Her other one guides Sam closer to her, one of his legs tucked under himself with the other planted on the floor to keep him steady, his knees tight against the line of her thigh. A smile breaks across her face as she slides each hand up to the back of both Sam and Dean’s heads, her eyes languidly searching both of their faces.

“I want to try something.” There’s a hidden promise under the words that skim Sam’s cheek, making him flush in anticipation. Kelly coaxes both him and Dean forward at opposing angles, each tilting as two sets of Winchester mouth press against hers at the same time. Sam feels electricity break across his skin as the edge of Dean’s mouth brushes the edge of his. He sucks a breath in through his nose as Kelly kneads her fingers in his hair, pulling him in tighter before she opens her mouth and licks forward, catching the taste of both of them on her tongue.

Sam slips a little from where he is perched on the couch, falling forward before catching himself with a hand on Kelly’s thigh. His shifting causes his mouth to settle more on Dean’s than on hers. A hot flower of fear and exhilaration blossoms in his chest as he freezes in place, not pulling away but not pushing forward either. Dean’s gone stock still, three-quarters of his mouth claimed by Sam’s and one-quarter being tended to by his girl. Sam’s tongue presses against the back of his teeth, vibrating with the want, the _need_ to break past his lips and finally get the taste of Dean imprinted on his tastebuds.

“Go on, Dean, open up for us. C’mon, baby,” Kelly is soft and gentle and sultry and oh so convincing and yes, Dean’s becoming pliant, parting slightly under a pair of mouths, his bottom lip pushing to rest between both of Sam’s. Sam tightens the seam of his lips, the pressure trapping Dean’s right where it is, right where it should be for the rest of eternity, just resting against the rise of Sam’s until they are fused into one. Sam closes his eyes and swears he is on fire, a shimmering heat dancing through his bones until he feels like he should be burning up in the sky next to the sun, not here in this room. His own body betrays him, his tongue forcing its way past the locked gate of his lips to poke through and run a slick line along Dean’s. A choked noise breaks from Dean’s throat and his mouth opens a little more. Sam barely notices that Kelly is pulling away, her whispers of encouragement guiding Sam to lean just a little more forward, to give just a little more of himself up to his brother if Dean will have him and God, does Sam hope Dean will have him because all he’s ever wanted is for Dean to put out his palms and take Sam’s soul in his hands with nothing more than a smile on his face as a promise, and it’s here, it’s happening, it’s real. It’s real when Dean responds, his face angling towards Sam so Sam gets the entirety of his brother’s mouth on his, gets the panting breath and the spit-slick slide of lip against lip, gets the probe of foreign yet familiar tongue asking permission and all Sam can think is God, yes, take it, take it all, it’s always been yours, _I’ve_ always been yours.

Heaven on Earth resides in the mouth of Sam’s brother. Sam is riding on a cresting wave of high, their lips slotting together as if they were made for one another, but of course they were made for one another, Sam has known that he’s belonged to Dean with his mind, body and spirit since the day he was created, so this is simply the ‘body’ part of that trio coming into play. Dean licks at the inside of Sam’s mouth like he’s starving, devouring every available space until Sam can no longer taste the pizza he had or the beer he drank, can’t taste anything other than _Dean_. Sam dives right back, battling against Dean’s tongue with strong pushes until he can stake his own claim in Dean’s mouth, lick the taste of Kelly right out and leave his mark, his own taste there instead, right where he belongs. A reassuring groan rumbles from Dean, encouraging Sam, giving him the strength to nip at Dean’s tongue before sucking Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth to worry it with his teeth. At this point, Sam, drunk off the wet heat of his brother’s mouth, opens his eyes to find Dean’s already wide, his blown pupils blanketing away the usual rings of green and gold that Sam so loves to search. Sam releases Dean’s lip, heaving pants breaking between them. Their foreheads press together, noses nudging as they breathe each other’s expelled air, both locked into place by the other’s eyes.

“That was beautiful.” It’s a low murmur of awe and admiration accompanied by a gentle brush of knuckles against Sam’s cheekbone. He starts in surprise, forgetting that Kelly is the bridge separating him from his brother, the one he is leaning on so heavily to be sure he won’t fall over from the pure shock that he can finally swallow and know it’s more of Dean in his saliva than himself. The movie was apparently turned off long ago, the screen silent and black in the corner of Sam’s eye. Trembling, Sam leans back slowly away from Dean, knowing full well that he could spook like a horse at any moment given the fact that he just played tonsil hockey with his little brother. Dean stays exactly where he is, his eyes wide and bright as they rove over Sam’s face.

Kelly, apparently feeling forgotten about, sits up again and starts to push her hand up under Dean’s shirt. Sam tracks the movement warily. He’s not so sure now that he wants to be here to watch them take this a step further, not after he’s finally got a taste for Dean’s tongue in the heat of a moment they will probably never experience again. Sam pushes back, away from Kelly, away from Dean, to the arm of the couch, rubbing his eyelids vigorously with the heels of both hands as he tries to regulate his breathing. Just get up and go and let them do their thing.

“Sam?” Dean says it low and rough, gravel clattering down Sam’s spine.

“I gotta-“ Sam’s voice cracks in the middle of his attempted sentence so he just shakes his head instead, standing up on shaky feet. Stumbling blindly in the darkened living room, Sam bangs his shin on the corner of his coffee table in his haste to get to his bedroom. He hears someone call out his name again but his door is slamming shut, cutting the words in half before they fully reach his ears. Sam’s shaking so hard that his breath is rattling out of his ribcage like dice being tossed up and down in a plastic cup. He yanks his covers back and clambers under the sheets, pulling them over his head like a cocoon.

In the dark of his room, blackness blanketing the inside of the safety net that Sam has created for himself under cheap cotton and a thin comforter, Sam can finally admit that he knows where the jealousy comes from. A place of love. Not the right kind of love. No one would smile and nod and coo if Sam ever tried to explain this kind of love to them, because it’s verging on unhealthy, codependent and just plain _wrong_. Sam doesn’t just love his brother. He is _in love_ with his brother. He wants Dean, wants to have his hand tracing Dean’s abdomen, wants to have his mouth exploring the length of collarbone that Sam has seen broken in three different places, wants to have Dean’s entire body pinning him on these very sheets. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, hard enough that little bursts of color sparkle across his vision and it makes his head hurt. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Why can’t anything ever be normal in Sam’s life? Why can’t Mom be alive and not a permanent scorched outline on the ceiling of Sam’s nursery? Why can’t Dad go twelve hours without having to dive right into a bottle of whiskey? Why can’t Dad actually be a _dad_ and be the father figure that Sam and Dean need so that Dean doesn’t have to take on that paternal role and become _thatmuchmore_ important to Sam? Why can’t Dean hate Sam and find him the annoying little brother that’s too clingy and shove him away when Sam tries to cuddle under his arm like a normal big brother? Why can’t Sam just _not_ be in fucking love with his own flesh and blood?

A light knock on the door rouses Sam from his wallowing. He tightens his grip on the comforter and draws the sheets closer around him, ignoring it. He probably imagined it anyway because Dean wouldn’t leave a guaranteed fuck just to check on his little brother. Except Sam is proven wrong when a louder rapping echoes in his ears.

“Go away!” His call is muffled by a few layers of cotton and maybe that’s why Dean doesn’t hear it because his door is creaking open and shut, Dean’s distinguishing padding leading right to the edge of Sam’s bed.

“Sammy.”

“I said go away,” Sam says miserably. It’s starting to get suffocatingly hot under the sheets with him breathing in his own air. He’s gonna need to surface soon and he really doesn’t want Dean here when he does.

There’s a tug at the crown of Sam’s head where Dean is trying to pull the covers down but Sam keeps his grip tight. Unfortunately, Dean decides to use both of his hands and his full body weight to rip the covers down to the foot of the bed, uncovering Sam’s entire body.

“Hey!” Sam sits up and glares at Dean indignantly before blushing furiously. Dean’s forehead is furrowed, his eyes glinting as they search Sam’s face in the faint moonlight that fills Sam’s room. Sam reaches down and shimmies the covers back up over his lap. “I was cold.”

“You were suffocating.”

“Yeah, well…” Sam has to look down at his hands because he can’t think of a good enough retort and staring at Dean for too long will lead to Sam staring at Dean’s mouth and he just really can’t handle that right now. “You’re leaving your date out there all by her lonesome.”

“Nah,” Dean sighs, sitting down heavily on the edge of Sam’s bed. “She went home.”

Sam’s head shoots up so fast that a muscle in his neck starts spasming so he claps a hand there and tries to massage it back to peace.

“What? Why?”

Dean shrugs, looks down, picks at a thread on Sam’s comforter.

“Dean.”

“It just got…weird.”

Sam presses his lips into a thin line and ducks his head. He made it weird, not her. She wasn’t the one who initated it all. She didn’t force Sam’s tongue out of his mouth to lick at Dean’s lip and start the avalanche. Sam did.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Dean’s voice sounds small. Very un-Dean-like.

“For what?”

“For her. For her pressuring you into, I dunno, doing shit you probably weren’t comfortable doing. I’ve only talked with her once or twice, didn’t know she was that far out there with this shit and I shouldn’t have let her pull you into any of this.”

Sam meets Dean’s eyes, squinting in the darkness to try to read his face. He looks stressed, nervous, all of the above. So now probably isn’t a good time for Sam to say he couldn’t thank Dean’s flavor-of-the-week enough for providing an opportunity for Sam to have Dean’s taste on his tongue, then.

“It’s fine, Dean,” Sam says because he knows it’s what Dean needs to hear right now. “It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.” The sigh of relief that escapes Dean’s lungs is confirmation enough.

“Get some sleep, kiddo. Up early tomorrow for runs and sparring as usual.” Dean’s hand works into Sam’s ratty hair and gives it a ruffle. The charged air is dissipating, the threads of unspoken awkwardness slowly trailing away and Sam is grateful because it’s easy enough to fall back into this routine and pretend that everything is back to normal.

“Not a kid, Dean,” Sam retorts as usual as he worms his way back down under the covers, his head hitting the pillow to watch Dean move to the door. Dean turns in the doorway, one hand on the knob as his eyes meet Sam’s.

“No. You’re not.” The words are soft enough that if Sam hadn’t seen Dean’s lips move, he wouldn’t believe they were anything more than a figment of his imagination. But Dean said them, he really, actually said the words. Sam can practically see them burning themselves in the blank wall next to the doorway as Dean shuts the door. Sam rolls onto his back, arms out at his sides as he stares at the ceiling and wonders if this is what free-falling feels like.

\---

Sam actually beats Dean in their morning run, clearing the driveway a full two and a half seconds before Dean’s feet hit the asphalt behind him.

“HA!” Sam crows, pumping both fists in the air in his victory. “How does my dust taste?”

“Shuddup,” Dean rubs his face in the hem of his damp t-shirt before tossing it down irritably, glaring at Sam’s cheerful whoops.

“That means you have to make breakfast,” Sam spins around on his heel and starts to march into the house with a bounce in his step. Their deal is that whoever loses the final leg of the race back to their house on their weekend runs has to make the winner breakfast and now Sam finally can take the trophy and sit back while Dean does all the work. “I’m feeling like French toast and bacon and one big omelette.”

“You tripped me a mile back. You cheated.”

“You tripped over a rock, you sore loser. Suck it up and take it like a man.” Sam drawls over his shoulder as he pushes into the house, passing by the couch to take his rightful place at the table instead of the kitchen.

A growl rumbles from behind Sam and the next thing he knows, he’s being tossed over the back of the couch to land on the cushions with a surprised whoomp of air leaving his lungs as he watches Dean launch himself over as well. Sam’s hands go up to grip Dean’s arms before Dean can pin him to the couch, their legs kicking and scrambling as each tries to gain purchase. Sam gets a foot between Dean’s legs to throw him off balance but Dean’s calves clamp together, trapping it there as Dean rolls them off the couch and onto the carpet, Sam’s cheek grinding into the coarse fibers as one of Dean’s hands shoves his face into the ground.

“You’re so annoying!” Sam complains, his muscles burning as he works his elbow up between their chests to shove out to the side, breaking Dean’s hold on his head. Getting his leverage despite his trapped foot, Sam pins down Dean’s right arm and uses his body weight to switch their positions so Sam is hovering on top and Dean is the one being shoved into the floor. Dean struggles valiantly for a moment before his entire body locks up, easily letting Sam get a grip on both of his forearms and pin them down. “Ha! Beat ya again.”

Sam’s smug until he sees the tensing of Dean’s jaw as it clenches and unclenches. Quirking his head to the side in confusion, Sam starts to take in their respective positions and it all kind of clicks. Dean still had Sam’s foot trapped between his calves, so when Sam had flipped them, his leg had remained wedged between both of Dean’s and with the shifting and scuffling and everything in between, Sam now has his thigh pressed tight against Dean’s crotch. That, combined with the pinning of Dean’s wrists, sets Sam’s face aflame. He springs his hands free from Dean’s arms with a muttered string of apologies and swear words, trying to back away and give Dean his space because God, everything was going fine, they had been normal this morning until this, why did it have to happen like this, why, why, why. But he can’t scoot back. Why can’t he scoot back? Sam looks down to where he is kneeling to find Dean’s thighs clamped around his leg. Bringing his gaze back up to Dean’s, he asks his brother with his eyes why he won’t let Sam back away from this before the fragile wall between them crumbles, and the glint in Dean’s eye is the only answer Sam needs.

There’s a grunt from Dean as he hauls himself up and from there it’s a confusing cacophony of limbs and gasps and worlds tilting until Sam ends up on his knees and forearms, his face being ground into the rough carpet once more. Dean is draped along Sam’s back, one hand on his head to keep Sam down and the other reaching in front of Sam’s chest to trap both of Sam’s wrists in his grip, the rest of his weight bearing down so Sam basically is locking his own arms into an immovable position.

“Beat ya.” The two words whisper into the shell of Sam’s ear at the same time that Dean scrapes his fingernails along Sam’s scalp with the force he uses to push Sam’s face deeper into the carpet fibers. A shudder racks Sam’s body at the feeling, his back arching up like a cat’s and then Dean’s gone. The heat that was pressing down on Sam like a heavy woolen blanket of everything Sam has ever wanted fades as Sam lifts himself onto his hands to watch Dean stride off to their shared bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

He could have sworn that he heard Dean grumble out something like, “That damned couch.”

When Dean returns from his shower, Sam’s already spooning out even portions of scrambled eggs onto the two plates on the counter, the second pan sizzling with four pieces of French toast. Flipping them with a spatula, Sam takes care to keep his eyes on the stovetop and not on his brother shimmying a shirt over his wet head. Once they’re ready, he finishes preparing their plates before bringing them over to where Dean’s taking a seat, putting them down with a clatter. Returning to the cupboards, Sam pulls out two glasses, fills them with what is left in the orange juice carton, and finally sits down across from his brother. Sam offers a glass to Dean with innocent eyes and a small smile. Dean reaches forward and plucks it from Sam’s hand, taking a big gulp at the same time his foot kicks Sam’s shin.

“Ow!” Sam scowls, kicking back. “Jerk.”

Dean grins, relaxing into his old self. “Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

Red flares in Sam’s cheeks at the term of endearment. Shaking his head, Sam rapidly spears three chunks of eggs and shoves them into his mouth before he can say anything really stupid. Sam would be lying if it didn’t make every cell in his body tingle. So on the outside, everything goes back to normal, but on the inside, Sam can feel his heart twisting in his ribcage every time Dean’s tongue curls out to meet the fork carrying food into his mouth because he’s tasted that tongue and claimed that mouth and for Sam, that is never going to be able to be swept clean from his mind.

\---

Sam convinces himself it’s not a big deal when Friday rolls around and a new girl is perched on the couch under Dean’s arm. It’s totally, completely fine. Sam even offers to call the pizza place. It’s all well and good until they’re twenty minutes into “Independence Day” and Dean’s got his hand down Jodie’s skirt. Sam is out of there with a clipped excuse about homework, shutting himself in his room with his hands in his hair and his forehead banging on the wall in a rhythm that he hopes will knock every wrong thought about Dean’s fingers and where Sam wants them to be out of his head. Dean doesn’t come into his room that night to check on him. The next morning, Dean tells Sam that she wasn’t a good lay and that he wishes he could have left at the same time Sam did. All Sam can offer is a grunt as he plunks down the bacon and eggs.

The following Friday, Sam skips right over the part where he convinces himself this is some sort of coincidence and just goes right into being the bitchy, annoyed little brother. Dean could go to this girl’s house just as easily to get laid. In fact, it would probably make it easier on Sam who wouldn’t have to be witness to the whole process while he was trying to eat his pizza in peace. So Sam lets Dean order the pizza but cuts the whole thing off before he has a chance to see Dean and the blonde start their mating ritual by piling a plate high with cheesy triangles and locking himself in his room as the intro for “Pulp Fiction” begins to blare. Even with his door closed and the TV being at a moderately high volume, Sam can still hear her moans. Sam doesn’t leave his room, not even to brush his teeth before bed. Dean knocks once after the blonde goes home but Sam pretends to be asleep. He doesn’t come in. The next morning, Dean beats Sam by nearly half a minute, claiming that he was using all his pent up sexual energy as a means to win since what’s-her-face wouldn’t let them go all the way and was only down to be eaten out and give Dean a blowjob in return. Sam purposely gives Dean the ugly, deformed omelette for the TMI.

The Friday after that, Sam’s fed up. The small flame of hope that wavers in his chest as he prays he won’t walk in to a new female face in his house is doused when he sees a pair of kitten heels where he usually kicks off his sneakers. The fact that today marks a full month that he and Dean have been in the same place without Dad dragging them off to a new town makes Sam even more irritated that he can’t celebrate it with Dean _alone_. Sam plans to shut himself in his room the moment he can grab something from the fridge, but somehow Dean coaxes Sam into joining him and Sarah in watching “Jurassic Park”, one of Sam’s all-time favorites. Dean sits between his girl and Sam for the first time, both arms stretching along the back of the couch. Sam can feel Dean’s fingers playing with the hem of his shirt sleeve. When Sarah slings a leg over Dean’s lap and the two of them start kissing, Sam’s ready to bolt. Pushing himself away from the couch cushions, Sam is nothing short of surprised when he feels Dean’s arm slip down around his shoulders to the front of his chest and pull him back against his big brother. Dean’s hand tightens right over his pounding heart. From where he is now nestled in the space under Dean’s arm, Sam turns his head to watch a manicured hand palm his brother through his jeans, lithe fingers dancing down the worn denim to trace the outline of Dean’s dick and holy shit, is Sam’s mouth dry as a desert. No, no, for God’s sake, _no_. Shoving Dean’s arm off, his entire body vibrating with rage, Sam launches himself to his feet. Spinning to face them both, Sam spits out that Jesus Christ, if you want to fuck her, have the decency to go rent a motel room and not do it on the couch where Sam’s gonna have to sit tomorrow, and that’s that, Sam’s slamming his bedroom door behind him, Sarah’s slamming the front door behind her, and Dean’s left speechless and alone on the cushions as the Tyrannosaurus Rex eats his first victim. The next morning, Sam does his morning run alone and Dean’s breakfast goes cold on the table in the space across from Sam.

Dad calls on Sunday and informs them they have another week and a half. He tells Sam that he’ll be there on the following Tuesday and to have the house packed up by then if they can manage it. Sam assures him that it’ll be done.

Sam dreads the end of the week. He hasn’t seen Dean for more than a few minutes here and there since his outburst last Friday and he’s itching with apologies and offers and bribes, anything to be able to have Dean stand in the same room as him for more than ninety seconds.

Based off the fact that the past few days have been spent with Dean avoiding Sam, he isn’t expecting much when he enters the house on Friday afternoon. His eyes slowly scan the mess of shoes piled by the door. No heels, flats or female shoes of any kind. That little flame of hope rekindles in his chest. Sam drops his bag and inches his way into the living room. No sign of Dean except for an open beer bottle on the coffee table. Sam cautiously pads into the kitchen, eyes roaming the counters to find two boxes of pizza steaming on the top of the stove.

“I got two meat lovers,” Dean’s voice says from behind Sam. “I was sick of your extra cheese.”

Sam spins around, a smile growing on his face as he takes in Dean leaning on the back of the couch, beer in hand.

“That’s fine,” Sam nods a little too enthusiastically. “Anything’s fine.”

Dean raises his eyebrows wordlessly and gets to his feet.

“So what movie are we watching?” Sam asks as he turns and starts pulling plates from the cabinet above his head. He reaches up again to go for the glasses when Dean’s arm comes from the side and shuts the cupboard door before Sam’s hand can get inside. Lifting his head to look over his shoulder, Sam finds that Dean is _rightthere_ next to him, the entire front of his body brushing Sam’s side. Swallowing hard, Sam lowers his arm to rest on the counter, his eyes darting between both of Dean’s.

“You wanna tell me what that little temper tantrum was last week?” Dean’s voice is low and not as angry as Sam thought it would be, his breath ghosting across Sam’s face with their proximity.

Sam clears his throat before he speaks. “You wanna tell me when our movie nights became a turnstile for your latest catch of the week?”

Dean’s jaw sets at Sam’s words, his eyes flashing with something Sam can’t put his finger on before moving down to stare at his feet. Sam bites the inside of his cheek at how lame he sounded, like that clingy little brother complaining that Dean bringing home girls ruined _their_ movie night, as if he has some sort of claim on Dean’s Friday evenings.

“Forget it,” Sam shakes his head and turns back to the plates, picking them up with a clatter. “Just forget it, Dean.”

“No. C’mon, Sammy, you obviously have something you wanna get off your chest.” Dean crosses his arms and lifts his eyebrows to indicate he is ready for Sam’s oncoming speech. Irritation flares in Sam’s chest like a hot coal being blown on, so yeah, alright Dean.

“Okay. Fine.” Sam drops the plates and spins to face his brother. “I was just wondering if I missed a memo or something. Did you forget to slip one under my door to let me know we’d be having ‘guests’ over every Friday night? ‘Cause you could’ve just told me that you’re sick of hanging out with your stupid little brother and have decided to move on to bigger and better things. Y’know, just to give me a heads up.”

Dean’s face twists in a way Sam doesn’t expect, shock and hurt carving his mouth down into a frown.

“What? Sam-“

“I got the hint, Dean. I’ll stay out of your way from now on.” The memory of Dean clutching Sam to his chest makes Sam wince. He has no idea what the fuck to do with these feelings that are boiling up under his skin, too confused by Dean’s conflicting actions to make sense of anything at all.

“Sammy, that’s not what I want!” Dean grabs Sam’s shoulder as he tries to break out of the kitchen, whirling Sam around to fully face him. “That’s-shit. That’s the opposite of what I want.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam bites out, trying to shrug out from under Dean’s palm because it’s burning a hole in his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

With an exasperated huff, Dean steps forward, crowding Sam into the kitchen counter so the cheap laminate is biting into the small of his back. His hands slap down on either side of Sam’s body, bracketing him into Dean’s space. Heart pounding a mile a minute, Sam forces his eyes up to meet Dean’s.

“It means-“ Dean cusses under his breath and hangs his head to gather himself before clenching his jaw in resolution. Looking up, he paralyzes Sam with two rings of green and stumbling words. “It means I’m an idiot. It means I thought…I thought it was the only way you’d be comfortable. Doing…” Dean’s really struggling to get it all out but Sam refuses to interrupt, needs to hear Dean say these words so he can sear them in his brain and his heart for the rest of his life. “Doing anything else. With me.”

All the breath leaves Sam in one long rush until he’s a deflated balloon. His legs are trembling, barely able to hold his body up so thank God he’s leaning against a counter because otherwise he’d be on the floor.

“I shouldn’t have-God, I’m fucked up,” Dean drops his head down again, this time in shame. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so fucking sorry-“

Sam can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand to hear the self-loathing laced under Dean’s words and the doubt hovering around them when Sam himself feels like he’s floating in space without a tether. He reaches up and clasps Dean’s face in his hands, guiding his brother’s face back up so their mouths can burn together like a branded seal. Dean’s fingers fly up to Sam’s cheeks and push him back, his face contorting into one of pain as he shakes his head no.

“Sam, stop. You don’t have to do this for me.”

“Will you shut up?” Sam snaps, and to his surprise, Dean does. He has no idea where the words are coming from but they’re pouring out of his mouth in a somewhat confident tone so he lets himself go. “Why do you think I couldn’t stand to be around whenever you started to go any further than second base with those girls? This isn’t just you, Dean. It isn’t. _I’m_ the one who kissed you.” Dean’s face is a pleasant shade of pink and it makes Sam smile softly as his hand lifts to slide down the straight slope of Dean’s nose, down the soft skin just above his top lip, down to the one place Sam has ever considered a home. “I’m doing this for both of us.”

Sam can feel Dean warring with himself, _this is your little brother this is your flesh this is your bone_ , so Sam makes it easier for him by fisting his hand in Dean’s shirt and parting his lips to welcome Dean's mouth back to his. They slide together, perfect angles and perfect pressure, just a pair of mouths made for the other. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, just an open promise that Sam can give his brother to reassure him this is what he wants, God, it’s what he wants more than anything. Dean takes it, nudging forward more to pry Sam’s mouth open with his lips, Sam’s name escaping Dean’s throat as he reaches up to tilt Sam’s face to a harder angle, one where his tongue can slip in deeper. Sam yanks Dean closer to him, leaving not a single millimeter of space between the two of them, revelling in the heat of his brother surrounding him on all sides. Dean’s hands are everywhere, sliding down Sam’s arms, rucking up Sam’s shirt as they palm at his ribs, eating up every inch of skin that Sam has to offer.

Sam is dizzy with it all. Dean’s confession, Dean’s mouth, Dean’s hands, it’s all putting him in a tailspin that won’t slow down. He forces himself to focus on one thing at a time, the first being his brother’s lips working against his own. Sam sucks on Dean’s tongue, running the tip of his along the bottom of the slick muscle before he pushes in to Dean’s mouth to claim it as his own once more. They finally break apart a moment later, both panting for breath as Dean chuckles and shakes his head a bit.

“You don’t hold back at all, do ya, Sammy?” Dean says with a warm smile, dilated pupils skimming over Sam’s flushed cheeks and used lips. Calloused fingertips lift to drag along Sam’s bottom lip, pulling it down before letting it bounce back in place. The smirk that crosses Dean’s face afterwards makes all the blood in Sam’s face change direction to rush south. Dean can obviously feel Sam pressing into his thigh because the next thing Sam knows, he’s being hefted up onto Dean’s hips. Sam yelps, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and hitching his ankles together behind his brother to keep from slipping off, though something tells him that Dean’s hands on his ass would have kept him there just fine on their own. They’re moving then they’re falling, Sam’s back landing on something soft as Dean follows, hovering over Sam without settling his body weight down. Sam quickly pieces together that they’re on the same damn couch as the last four Fridays. Sam’s hands reach up to lovingly pet over the familiar planes of Dean’s face, nothing short of awe making his eyes shine as he takes in his brother.

“Stop that,” Dean mumbles, trying to come off as gruff but sounding more embarrassed as he tries to bury his face into Sam’s neck.

“I can’t,” Sam replies, keeping Dean’s face aloft to look over it again. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah? Like Statue of David beautiful, all marble and God-like and shit?” Dean playfully bites at Sam’s thumb that is brushing over Dean’s mouth.

“No. Like a delicate kind of beautiful.”

“Delicate?” Dean’s nose wrinkles. “Sounds girly.”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he can see the inside of his head.

 _“Dean_.”

“C’mon, Sammy, we gonna keep talking about how delicate and pretty I am or are you gonna let me kiss you?”

Sam goes with the latter. Everything feels right where Sam once only saw wrong. How can anyone tell Sam that this is wrong if Dean’s leg slotting between both of his own makes Sam feel like lightning is singing through every vein in his body? How can anyone tell Sam that this is wrong if Dean’s mouth molds perfectly against his? How can anyone have the gall to tell him that the two of them were not made for each other if Sam and Dean are the only pieces to a two-piece puzzle and they have finally been able to fit together? How can any of this be seen as wrong? It’s right, it’s finally, finally right. Dean, the one who has come to Sam’s soccer games and awards ceremonies and threatened the school bully and made sure Sam always had food for his lunch and tucked Sam into bed and has always, _always_ been there for him, this very same Dean is now his and his alone.

Sam smiles into Dean’s mouth but ignores Dean’s questioning look in favor of pulling Dean’s shirt over his head. He knows he won’t ever be able to voice what he feels for Dean in the right way so he’s just going to stick to showing him. Reverently, Sam runs his palms over Dean’s shoulders, up his neck then down his chest as far as they can go with Dean pinning Sam into the couch and all. Dean, propped up on his forearms that bracket either side of Sam’s head, ducks down to ghost his mouth along the column of Sam’s throat. Arching up with a small gasp, Sam shifts and bends his knee so Dean has a firm space to rut against on his thigh, the same as Dean has provided for Sam between his legs.

The air around them seems to solidify, making everything that much slower, that much more drawn out as their bodies start to shift together, dragging into a stuttering rhythm that makes the breath catch in both of their throats. With a whine, Sam yanks Dean’s lips back up to his until they’re just panting into each other’s mouths, not even kissing, just rocking into each other and swallowing each other’s moans and hot air. Dean’s fingers comb Sam’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead, blunt nails scraping on his scalp as he starts to whisper sweet nothings in the corner of Sam’s mouth, little encouragements when Sam bucks up into Dean’s thigh, praises when Sam complies to Dean’s request to keep making those noises Dean so wants to hear.

Sam’s never felt this good in his entire life. Touching himself in the shower or in those stolen moments under the sheets in his bedroom have nothing on this feeling of being absolutely smothered in a tidal wave of heat, love and lust. Dean has always known ways to make Sam feel good, with his words after a fight with Dad, with his hands after getting tossed into a wall by a poltergeist, with his eyes after a moment of silence where the two of them just stopped and stared at each other, the love they have between them flowing beyond space and time to swirl into the other’s soul. But this was a new kind of feeling good, one Sam has never been able to experience before so he’s revelling in it, arching and sliding and pushing and pulling and breathing and _living_ in it and then it hits, the eruption of molten lava coursing through his veins and out of his pores and driving choked gasps from his convulsing body. At the exact same moment, Dean is rocking back into him, a trail of moans and swear words emptying into Sam's mouth until he's left trembling and breathless. Sam welcomes it when Dean collapses on top of him, knowing he is home in the blanketing heat of his brother crushing him into the couch.

They stay that way for a long while, just absorbing everything that has unfolded in the past few weeks like leaves drawing in the sunlight. Sam doesn't even care about the uncomfortable stickiness in his jeans because Dean is leaning up and stroking Sam's cheek like he's the finest set of china before drawing their mouths together once more. It's short and sweet and over far too quickly, but it's a promise, a promise of more to come and that this, whatever this delicate thing is between the two of them, is going to be okay. And that suits Sam just fine.


End file.
